


Adrian Pucey and the Triwizard Tournament

by McWriter



Series: Adrian Pucey Chronicles [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Gen, Hogwarts Triwizard Champion is a Slytherin, Hufflepuff & Slytherin Inter-House Friendships, Hufflepuff/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Slytherin Pride, Triwizard Tournament
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28959651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McWriter/pseuds/McWriter
Summary: What if the Goblet of Fire had chosen a Slytherin to be the Hogwarts Champion?Follows Adrian Pucey, through his 6th year at Hogwarts, as a triwizard champion. Includes, but is not limited to: Slytherin House, teenage drama, sibling bond, Hufflepuffs.
Relationships: Adrian Pucey/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Adrian Pucey Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124075
Kudos: 41





	1. The Other Chosen One

**Author's Note:**

> Posting schedule: One chapter a week.  
> Pairings: There is some Adrian Pucey/OFC, but romance is not the first aim of this story.  
> Rating: Started as T, but moved to M. Much of the story is suitable for T, but the M is for the one or two times it's not.  
> Warnings: Content warnings will be posted in the notes at the beginning of the chapter, where applicable.  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. I mean, I own things, just nothing in the HPverse. No profit is being made or will ever be made from this work.
> 
> I'm posting this fanfiction solely on AO3.
> 
> Am I simply rehashing the events of GoF? Yes and no. Much of the tournament and things dealing with HP and company remain largely unchanged. So you can expect the schedule/structure of GoF but from Adrian’s side. But it’s not just a retelling. There’s more!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrian's 6th year at Hogwarts starts with traditions and decisions. The Goblet of Fire chooses the Champions.

“Glory to the squid,” Palmer said, raising the staff in her hand.

“Glory!” the crowd chanted.

Adrian and the rest of Slytherin House were gathered in the common room for the Annual Giant Squid Festival, and Professor Snape pretended he was none the wiser as long they kept things within the House.

The third years had moved the couches and tables in the room to form a half-circle facing the glass wall that separated the den from the Black Lake. They were also responsible for the decidedly Gothic look of the room; low and intense purple lights that one kid had explained to him were meant to represent the glow of the Giant Squid’s eyes, transfigured tentacles hanging about the room that could be mistaken for Flobberworms depending on the skill of the student who had done the transfiguring, décor on the walls and atop the furniture that ranged from the impressive to the absurd. Adrian supposed they ought to be grateful they could still feel the warmth of the heated flooring beneath the charmed rug (it was apparently what its skin would feel like). Last year, some kid had decided to drench the rug in ice cold water for “realism”. Granted, they had been encouraged to go all out for the event. But they were Slytherins, for Salazar’s sake, heated flooring wasn’t worth giving up to appease the squid. The fourth years added to the theme as they served the room their selection of food and drinks, which fortunately only looked different but underneath were still the delectable cooking of the elves. Palmer, seventh-year prefect and unofficial den chief, was leading the prime ritual and brought her staff down to the floor with a thud. The first and second years started their slow trance-like dance around the room. And the upper years continued with their time-honored task of taking the mickey out of the newer Slytherins.

“Check that one out,” Kenneth said, nudging him as he pointed out a particularly enthusiastic firstie. Adrian and his mates had near-prime seats to the show, courtesy of his being a prefect and their being sixth-years.

He waved a fourth-year over for a fresh bottle of squid-ink (butterbeer, it was the same every year.) The second-year who had been designated in loco squid of the year “blessed” his drink when she passed by their table as she lead the train of lower years around the room in her overlarge costume. It was both an honour and a pain, Adrian thought with a mild grimace. He had, after all, had the dubious distinction of holding the position in his second year.

The train completed its round, and as the entire den got to its feet to hail the Giant Squid, Adrian could almost pretend that they were going to have an easy year. Sure the Dark Mark had been witnessed at the Quidditch World Cup earlier in the year, and sure just yesterday in D.A.D.A he had witnessed a blameless spider writhe under the Cruciatus Curse. But when he stepped up to take one of kid squid’s arms, his privilege as a prefect, it was easy enough the ignore the sense of unease in his chest. 

The first month of the school year thus passed with a vague sense that he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. It may have had something to do with the warning letter his mother had sent about Bagman, or the one his father had sent about Karkaroff. Or the roundabout way they had both advised constant vigilance around the retired-Auror now-Professor Moody. Or that bit of seer blood his brother, Tiberius, insisted they had to justify his taking Divination. Or the fact that he still couldn’t decide if he wanted to toss in his name for the Triwizard Tournament.

* * *

He leaned back in his seat as he watched Vaisey lead the first-years in laps around the Quidditch pitch. Just because the cup was cancelled, didn’t mean they had to abandon their brooms for the entire year.

“You know, your brother is asking for trouble coming to the pitch on our time,” Terrence said from beside him, eyes still on the field.

Adrian turned and, indeed, two figures were hurrying in their direction. It was a good thing Montague wasn’t around. Or worse, Warrington. He pushed himself off his seat, and walked past Terrence to meet them at the bottom of the stands.

“Have you seen the notice?” Tiberius asked eagerly as soon as they were in range, brushing back the shaggy, brown mop of his hair where it threatened to fall over his eyes. 

“I don’t suppose this can wait? We have the pitch booked,” Adrian asked, pointedly. Shaw at least had the grace to look nervous, and tugged at the edge of his canary yellow tie as he cast a quick glance around to see who else was there. Tiberius glossed over his words without a care.

“They’re coming in a week! Can you believe it?” he said. “There’s a sign posted by the Hall.”

“Who is?”

“Durmstrang and Beauxbatons,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Have you decided if you’re joining then?”

Adrian sighed. “You’ll know when I know, Ty,” he said. “Now do you mind removing yourselves from the pitch?”

“They’re saying Diggory’s a sure-pick in the sett,” Tiberius continued, ignoring his question.

“What are you practising for anyway?” Shaw asked, frowning at the flyers on the field. “Quidditch is cancelled.”

“The cup is cancelled. Not the game,” he replied.

“Eager lot, aren’t you?” Tiberius commented.

“Speaking of which, did you talk to Diggory about trying for seeker?” Adrian asked him.

Tiberius blanched. “With him still on the team? Why don’t I ask for his captaincy too while I’m at it?” he said sarcastically.

“He’s good, but he’s not Krum-good. At least, he can set you up for when he graduates,” Adrian said, then added, “Or try for chaser if you’re going to be such a wuss. With Applebee gone, I don’t see that you have anyone else.”

“Fine, I’ll think about it,” he replied half-heartedly.

Adrian shook his head. “Bugger off, both of you, before Hufflepuff loses 10 points for loitering. Each,” he said and turned back to join Terrence.

In the end, it wasn’t so much that he wanted to try his luck in the competition. He just didn’t like the alternative that he would spend his days wondering what would have happened if only he had tried. It was a weight off his shoulders when he finally threw in his name into the cup at the crack of dawn on Halloween. He had deliberately chosen the time to run into the least number of people. His family and friends knew of his decision, and he didn’t mind facing them if he wasn’t chosen. But he figured he could do without the potential taunts from some people if he lost out to Diggory, or someone worse.

* * *

The day of the selection passed by in a rush and before he knew it, he found himself sitting in the Great Hall, waiting for the Champions to be chosen.

Krum. Okay, predictable.

Delacour. Maybe he should have paid more attention there.

His heart was pounding out of his chest, and he turned his face away from Dumbledore to stare at the table. His name wouldn’t come out. Or it would. In that moment, he wasn’t sure which option was worse.

“The Hogwarts Champion...” Dumbledore’s words echoed through the room as it collectively held its breath in waiting. “Adrian Pucey,” Dumbledore said, looking out into the crowd.

There was a distinct moment of silence before a section of the Slytherin table burst into chaotic excitement. Adrian felt his breath catch in his chest, felt someone, Kenneth likely, elbow him in his ribs to bring him out of his stupor.

“Adrian Pucey!” Dumbledore practically shouted this time, trying to rise above the other sounds in the room; the uproar of his supporters, Slytherins and Ravenclaws mostly, Tiberius at the Hufflepuff table oblivious to the shock of most of his fellow housemates, others clapping in polite acceptance. And the harsh whispers of disbelief slowly but surely rising. Adrian didn’t notice any of it over the blood pounding in his ears, and later he wouldn’t quite remember making the trek to join the other Champions.

What he would remember of course was Harry Potter walking as though in a daze to join them. Hogwarts would be contesting two champions in the triwizard tournament, it turned out, defying all rules of logic and reason and fair-play they so often sang into their ears.

Dumbledore lead the ministry officials out of the side room, Madam Maxine and Headmaster Karkaroff ushered their respective charges out of the room, and Professor McGonagall fussed over Potter as she lead him out. He turned to look at Professor Snape who was also watching the group, tight-lipped and scrutinizing.

“Pucey,” he said, without turning to him.

“Professor?”

“I expect to see you see in my office at 7 sharp tomorrow morning. For tonight, you may go back to the den. I’m certain your Housemates will want to congratulate you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Professor Snape nodded once at him, and then was out of the room before Adrian realized he had not congratulated him.

Adrian walked out into the great hall, and found himself alone in the presence of the Goblet. Suddenly, the weight of his fate seemed to be coming down on him as he watched the flames dance. “People have died, you know,” he could hear the echo of Tiberius’s words. He shook his head to clear it, and hurried out of the hall.

He was out in the entrance hall and heading towards the dungeon stairs when someone jumped at him from behind a suit of armour. He immediately turned, ready to hex the offender and was greeted by the sight of a grinning Tiberius, his sharp blue eyes shining in the dim light.

“You just won me a few good Galleons!” he said, rolling a coin over his knuckles.

“You owe me at least half then.” Adrian snatched the coin out of the younger boy’s palm with ease.

“If I owe you half now, you would owe me half your winnings.” He didn’t bother retrieving his not-so-hard-won Galleon, but fell into step next to him as they walked down to the dungeons. “What’s the deal with Potter then?” he asked

Adrian face fell, but he didn’t want to complain, not to Tiberius at least. He gave him a highly-edited version of the story, ending with, “Two champions, nothing we can do about it.”

“Not if I can help it,” the other mumbled, frowning too.

“Try not to get me in trouble, alright?” Adrian said.

“Did they tell you what your first task is?”

“Not really. Crouch said something about testing our courage, whatever that means.” Adrian knew the clue for the first task wasn’t a clue at all. A surprise and a call for courage was much too reminiscent of Gryffindor, and he really didn’t like that thought,

“He’s a nutter, isn’t he?”

“Don’t call him that,” Adrian said, smacking the latter lightly across the back of his head.

“Well, he is!” Tiberius defended himself.

Adrian moved away from him to take the turn to the Slytherin part of the dungeons. “You should go back to the sett. I’ll see you later.”

“Wait! I told my friends I’d get the details.”

“Whatever I said, just dress it up nicely,” Adrian said with a shrug, still walking.

“Come on! You can tell me more. I’m breaking curfew here,” Tiberius said.

Adrian stopped in his tracks, turned back to Tiberius, then smirked. “10 points from Hufflepuff, Mr.Pucey, for being out past curfew.” He was around the bend in the corridor before Tiberius’s jinx could hit him, and walked down to the den, rolling the snatched Galleon over his knuckles and feeling lighter in his steps.

He stopped outside the entrance to the Slytherin common room, took a deep breath. And stepped inside to find the entire house gathered there. He paused by the door as Palmer stepped forward to him, and spoke to the crowd.

“Slytherins, we have a champion!” She raised Adrian’s hand high in victory as the crowd burst into applause and cheer. Adrian soaked the support, glanced at Palmer as she let go of his hand. She had put in her name too, he knew, but if she held her loss against him she wasn’t letting it show that night. She waved a hand to quiet the crowd.

“Pucey,” Palmer called. She was holding out a hand to him. “Omnes pro uno,” she said deliberately, holding his eyes and hand in an firm hold, and he knew her voice carried through the room because it went completely silent. All for one. It wasn’t just the first time the motto had been invoked for him, it was the first time in all of his years at Hogwarts that it had been invoked at all. 

“Unus pro omnibus,” he replied. One for all. She nodded, gave his hand a shake and the crowd might as well have been under a silencing charm. It was understood that when he stepped out to represent the school, he would represent his House. It was understood that he could call on any Slytherin present to aid him in his journey to victory. His win was their win, and his loss was their loss. Of course it wasn’t the iron-clad loyalty of a true Oath, but those had fallen out of a favour after the tragedy of Titus the tormented.

“Alright. Cave two is the Champion’s. Exclusively,” Palmer said to the crowd, and they nodded in understanding. “Years four and below, grab your poison from the table and get back to your rooms.” The lower years started to shuffle their feet. “Now,” she added, and they started to slink away to the far end of the room where food and drinks were piled on a table, many watching him with undisguised curiosity the entire way.

“Pucey, make us proud, yeah,” she said, and went on her way, and the crowd started to slowly disperse. Adrian was glad for it. A lot was said in a little, and then they let him be. He looked around, spotted Terrence and Kenneth at their usual nook and made his way there, acknowledged his thanks at those who eager enough to congratulate him.

There was an unspoken hierarchy to the room. Palmer and her group took the prime seats, close to the fire, suitably far from the den entrance and the dorms, view of the the rest of the room. Flint and his crowd had the second-best seating, the place where the Quidditch team gathered if they had to meet in the room. That left the third-best to Pucey and his friends.

“Cave two, mate. Makes the risk to life and limb worth it, doesn’t it?” Kenneth said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“So what did Crouch have to say?” Terrence asked, shushing the other.

Adrian settled to regale them of the happenings in the anteroom. He kept the discussion light because they were casually joined by several others. They congratulated him. Vowed their everlasting support for a housemate. Said they would be there to celebrate his victory. Most threw in a bad word for Potter, vaguely hinting at it if not going off on a small rant.

Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow, he would take his mates aside and really talk. For that night, he would play the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do leave your thoughts in the comments.
> 
> \- McWriter


	2. The Die Is Cast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Professor Snape casts judgment. Hogwarts picks favourites. Harry Potter has something to say. S.P.E.W.

“There are some, Mr.Pucey, who would see your choice as reckless,” Professor Snape said from across the desk, his dark eyes pinning Adrian back to his seat as he started to get up.

As ordered, Adrian had arrived at the office opposite the Potions’ classroom at seven sharp, fighting against the minimal rest of the previous night. The conversation had been one-sided, as he had realized conversations with Professor Snape often tended to be. Either he gave orders and you listened, or he employed the singularly Slytherin tactic of extracting information from you while giving none in return. It had been the latter that morning. After the admittedly brief exchange, Adrian had been considering himself dismissed when the Professor had spoken again, finally casting judgement his way.

“And how do you see it, Professor?” Adrian asked, straightening in his chair as he prepared to defend himself. Not that he really believed he could outmanoeuvre the Professor if the other was determined to crush him.

Professor Snape considered him through expressionless eyes for a few moments before answering. “I see that it hardly matters,” he said, his tone gentler than what Adrian had been expecting. Professor Snape stood then, his movements calm and precise, the kind honed from years of conditioning, and walked with the same grace to the bookshelf at the far end of the room.

“Sir?” he prompted.

“Alea iacta est,” he said, running a finger over the books.

“The die is cast,” Adrian replied after a beat, the pieces snapping into place in his head.

Professor Snape walked back to his seat with three books in his hands. “Indeed. I do not need to explain to you the nature of magically-binding contracts, I hope?” he asked as he retook his seat, his question more a statement.

“No, sir,” Adrian replied, with a minute shake of his head.

Professor Snape lined up the books on the desk in front of Adrian. Subduing the Faceless. Advanced Magical Theory. What You Don’t Know About You-Know-Who? Adrian raised both his eyebrows at it.

“These should get you started. I expect them back unscathed as soon as you have procured your own copies.” So he was going to make him ask.

“I understand the first two, sir. But why the third?” he asked. He had read the more popular Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, of course. Although why he needed to read about You-Know-Who at all, he wasn’t quite sure. Did the Professor think he was going to dabble in the Dark Arts to win the triwizard tournament? Was he encouraging him to do so? Or was this a warning?

Professor Snape looked away to the shelves of glass jars along the walls. “There may come a time,” he said slowly, “when you find yourself on a threshold, Mr.Pucey. Consider it preparatory reading,” he finished cryptically.

For some reason, the words felt heavy to Adrian, and he couldn’t find a reply. What was going through his head when he thought of the Dark Lord was the thought of the Boy-Who-Lived. Adrian wanted to bring up Potter, wanted to spill forth every angry thought he’d had since the last night when Potter had been declared the fourth Champion. But Professor Snape had already flayed the choosing of the Chosen One, had already been silenced by Headmaster Dumbledore. What could he, Adrian, say after that?

He simply nodded, picked up the books, and left the office without another word.

That was the beginning of Adrian’s preparation for the first task. He didn’t know what the task was, yet, but there were few excuses to not brush up on his charm-work.

He had varied levels of contact with the other Champions in the days that followed.

Krum seemed to treat him with more regard than he did the rest of Hogwarts, likely out of deference to his being a Champion. He came across the Durmstrang champion several times in the library; it would be just like Karkaroff to overwork him. Fortunately Krum wasn’t a talker, so their conversations, if any, were brief.

Delacour however was a talker, and he made the mistake of revealing he spoke French. Thankfully, she had enough people who weren’t him vying for her attention. Madam Maxine didn’t seem to be particularly fond of him, and when she magically appeared to take her Champion away halfway through conversations with Adrian, it suited him just fine.

Potter, of course, he saw the least and heard the most about. The one time they saw each other outside the Great Hall, he got the impression that Potter wanted to tell him something. But they were driven by their respective cohorts to their House tables, and the conversation died before it had even started.

He finally did run into Potter silently reading by himself in a remote corner of the library. They looked at each other for a moment with wary eyes, before Adrian decided to simply continue their mutual policy of ignoring each other and head to his destination bookshelf.

“I didn’t put my name in,” Potter blurted out as Adrian walked past him. He stopped, turned to him raised an eyebrow in question even though he knew exactly what he meant.

Potter looked away momentarily, before turning back to Adrian and holding his eyes. “I didn’t put my name in the Goblet of Fire,” he said firmly, putting his book down.

Adrian crossed his arms across his chest. “And you’re telling me this because?”

Potter ran a hand through his hair, “You just…” he started, gesturing in his direction, before shaking his head. “I wanted you to know.”

“Okay, now I know,” Adrian replied, without any change in his tone.

“You don’t believe me,” Potter said listlessly, his shoulders sagging just a bit, and then he looked away, his hands tightening into fists.

Adrian uncrossed his arms. “If that’s all, I do have places to be,” he said and turned to walk away without waiting for a reply.

Granger was standing at the aisle he was heading to, and by her crossed arms and the glare she was sending his way, he guessed she must have been standing there during their entire conversation. He kept his pace sedate and when he neared her, he slowed down and raised his eyebrows at her as his amusement danced in his eyes. She flushed, then whirled around to stomp towards Potter, and Adrian smirked to himself as he walked away.

* * *

The low light cast a dramatic play of shadows on the white screen around the bed in the Hospital Wing as Madam Pomfrey fussed within. The screen opened part-way and Brookland stepped out, wincing as the soft crying sounds of the girl on the bed resumed.

“And?” Adrian asked, getting up from the chair at the corner.

“She’ll be fine. Madam Pomfrey said she can stay overnight,” Brookland said.

“Good.” Adrian made to walk towards the bed, but Brookland stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Foster doesn’t want to see you,” she said, then shook her head. “More accurately, she doesn’t want you to see her.”

Adrian, taken aback asked, “why?”

“Really, Pucey?” she said, both eyebrows raised and smile threatening to break out on her lips. “She likes you, and doesn’t want to jeopardize her chances by letting you see her with the boils on her face,” 

“Is that why she locked the door on me?” he asked, throwing away the thought that Foster might possibly have taken offence at being called squid kid. He had clearly been jesting, and had called himself the same thing after all.

Brookland simply smiled.

“Did she tell you who was behind it?” Adrian inquired as they walked out of the hospital wing.

“Two guesses,” she hinted, rolling her eyes. 

Every bloody year. Adrian rubbed at his eyes to push back the weariness. He made a mental note to ask Harvey, the other sixth-year Slytherin prefect, to get a fellow second-year to tag Foster for the next week or two. And he’d have to let Montague know to handle the Weasleys; he had been looking for an excuse anyway since the Quidditch tournament had been cancelled.

“She was defending you, apparently,” Brookland revealed, bumping his arm with her elbow to break his increasingly consuming thoughts.

“And it hasn’t even been a week,” he remarked, twisting his lips.

Once Hogwarts had two champions, it was natural for people to pick a favourite. Gryffindor and Slytherin picked their own, because even if some Gryffindors seemed to murmur behind Potter’s back, they definitely prefered him over a Slytherin. Ravenclaw was divided in their support. Mostly, they were concerned with probabilities of who would win, who to bet on, and the House or the school of the Champion tended to be a footnote in their discussions. Hufflepuff wrestled with the decision the most, because even though Harry Potter was obviously a cheating attention-seeker, it was supposed to have been Diggory. But between Tiberius whose excitement for his brother threatened to infect the House and Diggory’s own vocal backing of Adrian, several Hufflepuffs slowly but surely found themselves hopping on the Pucey bandwagon. In all, it was the most support Adrian had received from his schoolmates over anything, even if most of the support came because he was their only legitimate choice.

It shouldn’t matter, his father had said in his letter. This wasn’t a popularity contest. This wasn’t between him and Potter. Adrian wasn’t so sure.

They walked in silence until they reached the student office, where they found Granger leaned against its door, her arms loaded with parchment. She straightened up as he and Brookland got closer, struggling to hold onto all of her burden.

“Everything all right, Granger?” Brookland questioned.

“Yes. I wanted to speak with you about something actually,” Granger answered, moving away from the door.

He raised an eyebrow at her. Brookland smiled sympathetically. “Can it wait until tomorrow?”

“Um,” she hesitated, darted a quick glance at Adrian. “If you don’t mind, can we talk now? I’m prepared, and it won’t take long,” she said, lightly raising her hands to indicate the things she was holding.

Brookland turned to him, tilted her head, placed a hand on his arm. “You must be tired, yeah? You should go, I’ll deal with this,” she suggested, and Adrian did not know whether to be annoyed at her presumption or moved by her offer. Brookland had been one of the few prefects who had willingly stepped up to cover his prefect duties in consideration of his being Champion, as opposed to grudgingly accepting them after being ordered to do so. She hadn’t carried any resentment against him on behalf of Diggory, and she had seemed genuine enough in her congratulations. She was on his team, hadn’t needed to be coerced into joining it.

He shook his head at her, moved towards the door. “Don’t go all Hufflepuff on me, Brookland. I might start thinking you care,” he said with a smirk, and held open the door for them to pass.

She huffed, “prat,” as she walked in. Granger shuffled after her, uneasily eyeing him, and he followed.

They took their seats behind the table and Granger started laying out her parchment on it. Maybe he should have taken Brookland’s offer.

“10 fine from Gryffindor are on the line, Granger,” he declared. “So you’ll want to make this worth our while.” Granger pressed her lips together.

Brookland leaned closer to study the parchment, furrowed her brows. “What’s this about?”

“House-elves,” Granger replied, her hands on her hips as she stared them down from her side.

Adrian couldn’t decide if he was more fascinated or amused. She gestured wildly to make her points, going through her ordered list point by point. Over the course of her monologue, much of her hair freed itself and framed the fierce, almost-glaring look on her face. He had only ever heard that it was wild from some passing mockery. Then, he could see it. He wondered if she was subconsciously channelling her magic, as he nodded along with a solemn face to a Muggle reference she made that flew right over his head. She narrowed her eyes at him as though she could see the bluff, but continued with her piece undaunted. To make up for his slip, and to try and wrap his head around the several intense minutes they had just spent listening to her impassioned speech, Adrian prodded her with a few questions about her grand plan. Beside him, Brookland tried to decipher his interest.

After Brookland finally ushered her out the door, Adrian couldn’t keep his composure any longer.

“House-elves,” he chortled, clutching at his sides as he shook with laughter.

Brookland, her lips pressed as she tried to hold back a grin, crossed her arms at him. Adrian laughed harder, waved one of the little badges she had left for them. Brookland chuckled. “Her heart’s in the right place,” she ventured as she walked closer to him.

Adrian shook his head, breathed deeply as he tried to regain control. “But the righteousness. The audacity. The bleeding manifesto! By Godric, I don’t know if she’s the best kind of Gryffindor or the worst,” he said, grinning up at the ceiling as he leaned his head back. It was the crumbling of all the pressure he’d been keeping a tight lid on, but at that moment, it didn’t matter what it was. He’d let Gryffindor keep the 10 points, Granger had earned that much.

“If you’re done, we can close for the night,” Brookland said, clearing the table and shaking her head at him, a small smile on her face.

“Wait,” he stopped her, taking the poster and the two badges. “We’ll put these up on the notice board by the Great Hall tonight. So tomorrow, Hogwarts will wake up to S.P.E.W,” he said. He’d take one badge with him to the den, the retelling would need a prop.

She crinkled her nose. “Is that a good idea? She’s going to face a lot of ridicule.”

He got up from his seat, moved around to her, turned her gently towards him with a hand on her arm. “Brookland, Brookland. This is valuable experience for Granger. Starting a student club. Spearheading change for a better future. It’s our duty as prefects to encourage her in her endeavours,” he implored with a straight face.

She rolled her eyes at him, and he smirked. “I reckon we should take this to the teachers’ lounge,” he suggested. “And we ought to call for an urgent prefects’ meeting, don’t you think? Brief the team on this matter of supreme importance.” Brookland shook her head, started out of the room.

“If she comes back crying, you’re consoling her,” she vowed.

Following after, Adrian fell in step beside her. “Maybe I’ll show her to the kitchens too. She can talk to the elves herself. Start the First House-Elf Revolution. We’d go down in history, Brookland,” he concluded, nudging at her arm with his elbow, and an easy smile on his face.

She nudged him back, smiled, did not grant a reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do leave a comment.
> 
> \- McWriter


	3. Skeletons in the Closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two enterprising Hufflepuffs start hustling. Wands are weighed. Rita Skeeter tests some boundaries. And an encounter with Hermione Granger.

After Arithmancy, his last class of the day, Adrian caught up with Terrence and Kenneth in the courtyard, where they seemed to be having an animated discussion with Tiberius and Shaw.

“What did I miss?” he asked, nudging Tiberius aside to take a seat.

“These,” Tiberius replied, thrusting his hand out towards him. On his palm were several badges boldly flashing _Support Adrian Pucey – The Real Hogwarts Champion_ in vivid green. Adrian picked one up, looked up to see Tiberius point to his robe where he had pinned one of the badges.

Before Adrian could comment on them, Kenneth grabbed the one in his hand, said, “And the fun part.” He pressed the badge, and it now read _Potter Stinks_ in garish red.

“Just what I need to win,” Adrian said sarcastically. He grabbed the badge back from Kenneth and cast a series of charms, and the letters faded. He held it up for Tiberius to see.

“No one who wants to wear the badge is going to remove the charms,” Tiberius reasoned.

“But a Gryffindor could get their hands on them and try to charm a message against Adrian,” Terrence pointed out.

Tiberius grabbed the badge back. “Fine. We can fix that, yeah?” he said, looking to Shaw for confirmation, who just shrugged.

“Do you two have nothing better to do?” Adrian asked.

“It’s charms practice,” Shaw stated with a grin. “That and do you know how many people would pay for one of these?”

“You’re wasted in Hufflepuff, Shaw,” Kenneth observed.

Tiberius and Shaw cornered him in the library the next evening to hand over the first of the final badges. He did not promise to wear them, but he assured them that Terrence and Kenneth would proudly flaunt them and spread word among the Slytherins. Indeed, by the end of the week, the den was inundated with the badges and everyone but the Gryffindors were quickly catching on to the trend.

* * *

“Ivy. Dragon heartstring. Eleven and a half inches. Reasonably springy. Elegant piece of woodwork, if I may say so myself. I see that it has served you beautifully, Mr. Pucey.”

Adrian’s summons for the Wand weighing ceremony came by way of a fifth-year Slytherin who had no qualms in showing she was miffed at being made an errand-girl. That was how all Slytherins turned out by their O.W.L year, he mused to himself. The optimistic pride of the younger years hardened into a chin-up conviction there was no turning back from.

The ceremony and the subsequent photo-shoot were gruelling. First, Potter kept them waiting and had to be scouted out by Dumbledore. In that interim, the responsibility of keeping Crouch occupied and away from Bagman somehow fell on him. At least, it also gave him a reason to studiously avoid Bagman, who for better or worse seemed more concerned with the one absent Champion than the three present. Then to top it all off, Skeeter cornered him at the end of the session. He considered various strategies from rude dismissal to casual brush-off, but he figured if she and the quick-quotes quill hovering behind her had already targeted him for an interview, he would be featured in the next day’s prophet one way or another. Best to make it happen on his own terms. That was how he found himself seated opposite her, his patience running thin.

“Adrian Pucey, where should we begin?” she said in a simpering tone that had him thinking they shouldn’t begin at all. She inched herself closer to the edge of her couch.

“You’re the professional, Ms. Skeeter,” he said, giving her his best professional tone as he straightened in his seat. It was a delicate game. They both wanted something, but neither wanted to give up anything in return.

“Rita, darling. Just Rita,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “So let’s talk about Harry Potter, shall we?” she prompted, clasping her hands on her lap. Here we go again, he thought, holding back a sigh. “Tell me, Adrian, how do you think a mere boy of twelve managed to trick the Goblet of Fire? Or is there a larger conspiracy afoot?” she asked, her voice dropping to a hushed whisper towards the end.

“I wouldn’t know, Ms. Skeeter,” he said calmly.

“Tch. What is your plan for defeating the Boy-Who-Lived?”

“The same as my plan for defeating the other Champions. I believe-”

Skeeter tapped her fingers on her knees as she regarded him through narrowed eyes, and Adrian felt a strange sense of foreboding. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and gave him a close-lipped smile.

“Okay. Let’s talk about something else, shall we?” she said, interrupting him. “Let’s talk about mummy.” Adrian tensed up at once, and she leaned closer. “How did your mother take to your being chosen Champion?” The quick-quotes quill started racing across the page, and he was torn between finding out what was being written and continuing to hold Skeeter’s eyes.

“She’s supportive of my endeavours,” he answered carefully.

“Hm.” The quill translated that as “living vicariously through her son”, and Adrian mentally pinched himself to stay calm. “Do you think she might come watch you at a task?” Skeeter asked.

“Yes,” he replied automatically, trying to frantically think of a way to turn the conversation in his favour as he watched the formation of “craving his mother’s approval”.

“How badly do you expect your father will sue the Department of Magical Games and Sports for allowing a second contestant from Hogwarts, Harry Potter at that, to take part in the triwizard tournament, thus undermining your status as Champion?” she asked, now speaking rapidly as she fired her questions at him.

“I don’t think… we have no plans to sue the Ministry. The magi-”

“You’re blaming Potter, then? Do you think it’s wise to make an enemy of the Chosen One?”

“I won’t be making an enemy of him because-”

“And what plans do you have for after your N.E.W.T.S? Is your mother keen to see you follow in her footsteps? Or will you follow your father into his business?” she asked.

Before he could answer, however, she shot up from her seat and stalked towards him. “Or perhaps,” she said, her voice now slow and deliberate, “with you skills and ambition,” she seated herself on the arm of his chair, “you’ll take after dear uncle Rookwood and go into the Ministry?” she finished in a chilling tone, and Adrian clenched his jaw. “Not that the Department of Mysteries is a poor choice of career, of course,” she added in a commiserating tone as she squeezed his shoulder.

Adrian pulled away from her, leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, clenched and unclenched his fists. He stared at the still rapidly moving quill, not really seeing the words it was forming. “You might want to watch you step, Rita. You’re treading on dangerous territory,” he warned in a low voice. The quill froze, and he let the silence stretch in the room.

He was well aware that it wasn’t a skeleton in his personal closet, but skeletons, in his opinion, ought not to be let loose when there was a remote chance they could find their way back to you.

It didn’t matter much that Augustus Rookwood had been languishing in Azkaban since Igor Karkaroff had eagerly ratted him out during his packed-to-the-walls trial after the First Wizarding War. Or that Octavia Pucey nee Rookwood had never actually been convicted on allegations of aiding her brother. Or that Thomas Pucey had simply used every tool at his disposal as proprietor of Wizarding Britain’s premier consulting firm to keep those he could out of the Dementors’ reach. Adrian may not have been able to recall much of that time but he could never forget the sight of a one-eyed Moody breaking down their front door with an Auror squad to take his mother into custody while his father had been at the Wizengamot tearing into the Auror Office for their relentless use of the Unforgiveable Curses during the war.

Adrian was loath to give Skeeter a bone because she would dig out the whole bloody skeleton army and arm them with machetes to boot.

“It’s just business, Mr.Pucey. Surely, you understand?” she said softly, and the worst part was that he did understand. He exhaled a long breath.

“I think,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “we should talk about Potter.”

She silently rose from the arm of his chair and took the seat opposite him again.

While he was too exhausted to dwell on the interview later that night, he still found himself pulled into the den where Malfoy was entertaining a sizeable crowd with a dramatic retelling of his duel against Potter in the corridors. It was only then that he acknowledged, if only to himself, that Potter was far too much of an unknown variable in the equation. After a letter to his parents warning them of his exchange with Skeeter, he quickly fell into a troubled sleep.

The reckoning came with the next day’s Prophet. Terrence shoved his copy of the paper in front of him, asking if he really had said what the paper said he had. Adrian silently read through the relevant sections, ignoring the whispers and snickers growing around him. Most of it was about Potter, as he had expected. She had “quoted” Adrian in a few places, taking liberties where she thought she could get away with it. Nothing about dear uncle Rookwood. Nothing about his family. He turned back to his meal. It really was quite convenient what one could get with a couple of veiled, well-placed threats. Sure, he would have appreciated a more positive coverage, but he supposed that would be too much to expect from Skeeter when she had the Chosen One to report about.

He had nearly moved past the incident until he encountered Granger in the library on a Saturday night. The library was blessedly devoid of students and he was taking advantage of the quiet to indulge in the more intensive of his magical theory reading material. It was a mirror of the last time they had come face to face in the library. She was looking at him through narrowed eyes, her lips pursed like she was fighting to hold back her words, her stance halfway between running away and charging at him. Adrian pushed his book away, leaned back in his chair, and lazily smiled at her. It was well past the final curfew for fourth-years.

“Granger,” he said in a polite greeting, keeping his voice low to prevent an echo through the empty library.

Her eyes narrowed further. “Pucey,” she said tightly.

“Do you know I’m a prefect?” he asked conversationally. The question was redundant, they both knew, but he considered the build-up important.

She crossed her arms. “Of course I do,” she scoffed, looked away.

She waited for him to say something further, as he knew she would, but he decided to simply out-wait her. She was in a decidedly muggle outfit – worn jeans, an oversized-sweatshirt, and no robes. Her hair didn’t look nearly as wild and bushy as it had been towards the end of her House-Elf rant several days ago. Her bag was dangling from one arm, dragging down that shoulder with its apparent weight. She looked exhausted, he thought. Overworking herself for Potter, likely. She started fidgeting under his gaze, and he bit his lip to hold back a smirk.

She jerked her head back in his direction. “Well, go on then!” she whispered harshly, and he raised his eyebrows in question. “I know you’re going to take off points, so do it right now instead of waiting for me to walk away.”

“Actually, Granger, I was simply going to send you back to your tower,” he said, with a light shrug of his shoulders.

The bluff was worth seeing her eyes widen momentarily before she pressed her lips into a slight frown. “I don’t believe you,” she said.

He shook his head, turned back to his book. “And you wonder why I don’t believe Potter,” he said softer.

He sensed her tense up where she stood. For a few seconds he resumed his reading, presuming she would go on her way. But she marched towards him and slammed a hand down on the table he was working at.

“You know, you have some nerve!” Granger snapped, clearing struggling to keep her voice down.

“Excuse me?” Adrian looked up, furrowing his brows at her.

“You heard me. You were completely out of line spouting those lies about Harry to Skeeter. You’re a prefect, for Merlin’s sake, you’re supposed to be better than…. Better!” she said, her voice going shrill as she blew up at him.

Adrian stiffened for a second as the interview came rushing back to him. Taking a deep breath, he calmly set his palms down flat on the table, leaned forward towards her. “Exactly, Granger. I’m a prefect, and unless you fancy an evening with Professor Snape, I suggest you watch your tone,” he said evenly.

She gave a bitter laugh, but showed no signs of backing down. “You can’t even defend yourself,”

“I don’t need to defend myself from the likes of _you_ ,” he sneered, harsh and cold.

She bristled in her spot and stared daggers at him for a few seconds, then whirled around and slunk off into an aisle. Adrian watched the top of her head as he deliberately rolled his shoulders. What a pointless confrontation. He let out a harsh breath and turned back to his book, deciding to go back to his earlier resolution of ignoring her completely.

He succeeded too, until he heard soft sniffling sounds somewhere nearby and his head shot up to look at Granger who was hurrying back out of the aisle. He made to get her attention, but she swiftly moved past him without so much as a glance in his direction. She was gone before he could think of what he wanted to say, but he did not miss the tear tracks on her cheeks.

He scowled at the empty aisle after her. What was her problem? Potter had gotten off easy, as far as Adrian was concerned. Perhaps the gossip about her and Potter was true after all. Well, if she wanted to spend a lifetime picking fights to defend the Boy-She-Loved, that was her problem. He hadn’t missed the derision she was facing from much of the student body over the article. While Potter had garnered both sympathy and mockery in mediocre amounts for the story, Granger seemed to getting the extremes of both; sometimes she was the girl who saved him and gave him hope, other times she was the girl taking advantage of poor, naive Harry Potter and his poor, broken heart. She was doing herself no favours acting out like that.

Adrian shook his head, pushed aside the last several minutes, went back to his reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Share your thoughts in the comments.
> 
> \- McWrtier


	4. Forewarned is Forearmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contemplating the first task. Hogsmeade visit. Training. A meeting with a man in the know.

Tastefully decorated to mimic the look and feel of a wizarding home, cave two was among the most beloved of the numerous caves of varying sizes that lay along a tunnel leading away from the Slytherin common room. An array of sofas stood in a semi-circle around a low table facing the hearth at one end of the cave, the walls were covered in elegant paintings, a packed bookshelf stood against a side wall. Most importantly, it afforded a modicum of privacy as it actually had a door unlike most of the other caves.

Terrence and Kenneth were engaged in a game of chess on the rug in front of the blazing fire, and Adrian sunk himself further into the comfort of the largest couch as he contemplated the first task.

The clearest method was to bribe or threaten Bagman. Both means had a good chance of getting him what he wanted, but the problem was Bagman himself. There was no way to make a straightforward deal with the man and Adrian didn’t have the luxury of time to devise a more elaborate trap. Besides, it was easy to see that Bagman was betting on Potter, figuratively but quite likely also literally, so he wouldn’t be keen on handing Adrian any advantage. And if he realized Adrian was related to Rookwood, well, that could turn out to be unpleasant for the both of them.

The Department of Magical Sports and Games itself was an option. Perhaps he ought to pull some strings in the Ministry. All tasks would have to be approved by the department, and it was simply a matter of funnelling funds to all the right hands to get a hold of the paper trail. But a potion was only as good as its poorest ingredient. It would take just one wrong pair of hands to derail the plan.

Hogwarts was an another alternative. Since the competition was restricted to the school grounds, he could keep a tab on the happenings in the castle. This could turn out to be a massive endeavour given the sheer size of the place, and the room for blind spots was too much.

Or he could track the people involved in organizing the tournament. If he could track their movements, then-

The realization startled him enough that he scrambled off the couch, He had been so blind. He mentally smacked himself and started out of the room. It wasn’t curfew yet, and even if it had been this was far too important to put off.

“Oi, Champ!” Kenneth called, and he halted, but barely. Kenneth and Terrence were looking up from their game with questions on their faces.

“I’m heading out,” Adrian said in lieu of an explanation, and the two of them turned to look at each other in silence like they were communicating telepathically. As if. “I’ll explain later. Or I may not. But I have to go,” he added, and hurried out before he was subjected to more questions about his sudden departure.

He stopped by his dorm first. His mother wouldn’t be pleased if she ever found out what he was about to do with her package of home-made treats, but he couldn’t go empty-handed of course. He strode purposefully out of the common room, a man on a mission not to be disturbed. Now that he had the answer to the mystery of the task at the tips of his fingers, he felt lighter. Knowing was half the battle.

* * *

When Hogsmeade weekend came, he decided to join his friends on their trip to the village instead of holing himself up in cave two as had been his initial plan. It wouldn’t do to obsess over the task. He was prepared, he had a strategy, he would not fail. Plus, it was Tiberius’s first trip ever and he was holding Adrian to his promise from the summer of buying him a drink to celebrate his newly-gained privilege.

He started regretting that promise as soon as he entered the Three Broomsticks. The pub was packed with students, which considering it was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, was hardly a surprise. Maybe he should have skipped this trip. They secured themselves a corner table with some effort, including Kenneth urging the younger years to hurry out of their seats with subtle references to the Champion’s busy life. While Terrence then sat down to guard their space and Kenneth headed to the counter to grab some drinks to warm them, Adrian searched the room for Tiberius. He found him in what he immediately dubbed the Hufflepuff corner. Tiberius and Shaw were at a table with several others around their age he only vaguely recognized by face, all huddled around mugs of butterbeer, and he moved towards them.

“Is Hogsmeade every bit as wonderful as you imagined?” he asked Tiberius as he rested a hand on the back of his chair. He acknowledged the rest of the table with a single nod. He was mildly chuffed to see Potter Stinks badges pinned on every one of their robes, he hadn’t really paid any attention to them since the first week. Shaw raised his drink at him and grinned from beside Tiberius while the others at the table looked at him with anything from between awe to nervousness.

“At least you don’t need to drop by Honeydukes for me,” Tiberius replied.

“I should thank Helga for that,” he said, then turned to the table. “Everyone’s having butterbeer, then?” They vaguely nodded and shrugged. “Shaw, do me a favor, will you? Get the table a round of elf-made wine on me.”

“Madam Rosmerta won’t give that to me. I know, I tried,” Shaw said with a shake of his head.

“Kenneth’s at the counter, if she still refuses. Go,” he said, and Shaw eagerly left for the task.

“Trying to corrupt my badgers, Mr.Pucey?” He turned to see Brookland standing beside him, her arms crossed, eyebrows raised, a small smile on her face, and her Support Adrian Pucey badge shining.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Brookland,” Adrian replied with an innocent expression and hand over his heart. “Besides, I don’t think Miss Ravenclaw there appreciates you lumping her with your badgers,” he added with a wink to the girl in the blue-scarf, who started turning red.

Brookland shook her head, pretended to glare at him. “If there’s trouble at the sett later, I’ll know just who to blame,” she said then.

“Duly noted,” he replied with a small mock bow of his head.

She then caught his arm, pulled him closer, said only for ears, “I wanted to let you know that Rita Skeeter was outside Gladrags a while ago.”

He looked at her, blinked against her smile, then nodded in acknowledgement. He followed her with his eyes as she walked over to join her friends, only looking away when her friend Moore’s eyes caught his. Maybe, maybe it didn’t mean anything. Brookland was perceptive enough. And they were friends. Of sorts. That was enough reason for her Hufflepuff heart to look out for him, wasn’t it?

* * *

Adrian cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and started a slow jog once he stepped outside the common room, broom in hand. He would need to get warmer before flying. The corridors were quiet and empty, and his steps lightly echoed along the walls reminding himself of both facts. He kept his pace steady until he was out of the castle, then increased it gradually until he was sprinting towards the lake. The pre-dawn air was cold as it whipped against his face, and he was glad he had decided to bundle up. As he neared the edge of the lake, he used the momentum of the run to deftly jump onto his broom without breaking his speed, and started flying over the lake.

Flying first thing in the morning wasn’t his idea of fun but he needed the exercise. The peace and quiet of the flight was also a welcome distraction from the burden of the tournament that came with the rest of the day.

He started a moderate pace around the edge of the lake, skimming the tips of his shoes along the water. In time, he picked up both speed and height. Once he was sufficiently warmed, he started running through the Quidditch team drills. Perhaps he ought to join them for the occasional practice, he tucked that thought into the back of his head. As he caught his breath after the drills, once again holding a steady pace over the lake, he considered creating obstacles for a bigger challenge. Then a different idea hit him, and he pulled his broom higher and flew towards the Forbidden Forest.

As he hovered above the trees at the edge of the forest, he considered the darkness it dissolved into. He wasn’t reckless enough to go too far in, but this close to the school couldn’t hurt, could it? He mentally demarcated an area for his use as he ran a lap at the treeline, then dropped back towards the school. There was no light coming from Hagrid’s hut so the gamekeeper was likely to be still in bed. No one to stop him then. He positioned himself a few feet off the ground and facing the forest. Then, taking a deep breath, he immediately kicked into a high speed charge towards the trees.

The trees closer to the edge were farther apart and it was easier to skirt between them, but as he flew further in, they got closer and unpredictable. He ducked and dodged through trunks and branches and was getting swept of in the adrenaline of the dash when he heard a wild roar from somewhere within the forest.

Caught off-guard by the sudden sound, he swerved to an abrupt halt in front of the next tree blocking his path. For a hot second, he looked in the direction of the noise before finding his sense and shooting straight up over the trees. He turned around himself on the spot, waiting for the source of the noise. When nothing was forthcoming, he started a steady flight back towards the castle, keeping a watch on his back. And as he dropped to the ground in the courtyard and dismissed his disillusionment, his heart was still pounding, partly from the workout and partly from the echo of the roar in his ears.

He seated himself on the stairs outside as he caught his breath. Maybe he should stick to the Quidditch pitch in the future. After some time of his contemplating the dangers of the Forbidden Forest, the sound of deliberate and heavy footsteps came from within the castle behind him. He glanced at his watch, shook his head to himself.

“Early morning, Mr.Pucey?” the gruff voice of Argus Filch came from beside him. Mrs.Norris hopped down the stairs, eyed his broom with what looked like revulsion.

Adrian grabbed his broom and got up, brushed himself off as he nodded in greeting to the castle caretaker. “Out of necessity, I’m afraid, Mr.Filch. You understand, of course.” Filch grunted in acknowledgement.

Among the many things Adrian had learned in his time at Hogwarts was how to deal with Argus Filch. In the early years, Filch had treated him with the same scorn that he did every student who ever came to Hogwarts, as though they were trespassing on his personal sacred grounds. In return, Adrian had treated him with the same easy dismissal he believed was appropriate for a Squib. It suited both of them just fine too. It wasn’t until his fire crab accident in his fourth year Care of Magical Creatures, after which he had been lying in the hospital wing and late at night had overheard Filch dramatize the incident to Professor Snape, that he had realized the nature and position of the man.

Filch was familiar with Hogwarts, he knew the castle and grounds in a way that most students passing through couldn’t really grasp. Adrian had also realized that Filch respected Professor Snape, and while it was easy to imagine that it was because they both took an unhealthy level of sadistic satisfaction in supervising their detentions, it really was because Professor Snape respected him back. The Potions Master saw the man who was the caretaker, where most eyes tended to pass right over him.

Adrian had then begun a subtle campaign to study and thereafter ingratiate himself with Argus Filch. His first step had been to thank him for his help after the fire crab incident with a package of home-made treats his mother had sent for him. Sure, Filch had grabbed the box through the barely opened door of his office and had sent him away with a grunt, but Adrian had not missed the surprise on the caretaker’s face on being addressed as _Mr._ Filch. Slowly but surely, Adrian had worked his way from you to boy to Pucey to Mr.Pucey. His status as a Slytherin prefect helped, as did the painful weeks he spent trying to get on Mrs.Norris’s good side. It wasn’t that she didn’t take the treats, she continued to treat him with suspicion after. Kneazle-blood. As far as Adrian knew, Mrs.Norris still only barely tolerated him but he could live with it. There was a reason he had dropped Care of Magical Creatures despite his Outstanding O.W.L.

“Best be off then, before the whole lot of ‘em are up and about,” Filch said, and started walking across the courtyard without another word. Adrian followed after the caretaker, and with Mrs.Norris bringing up the rear, they made a right sight.

Filch lead him out to the grounds, towards Hagrid’s hut. Then moved past it, leading them towards the forest.

“Wait. We’re going into the forest?” Adrian asked, stopping in his tracks.

Filch stopped and turned around slowly, pulled his thick brown coat tighter around himself. “Do you or do you not want to see they’re planning?” he asked, squinting his eyes in annoyance.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Mr.Filch. But the Forbidden Forest is forbidden for a reason. I’d rather not risk a visit to the hospital wing this close to the competition’s first task,” he replied, holding his ground. Mrs.Norris moved past him to join Filch in staring him down.

“Bah! If you go in blind to the task, you’ll end up there anyway,” he said.

Adrian wasn’t sure there was a good way to explain his policy of avoidance when it came to most magical creatures, but especially dangerous ones. He didn’t know how he felt about a Squib being so blasé about walking into a forest where he had heard the roar not even an hour ago. He couldn’t possibly have heard… Maybe Filch didn’t comprehend the danger, but he knew that argument was ridiculous even as it popped into his mind; Adrian had his wand, Filch had a regular old wooden staff.

“Are you sure there isn’t a better way? Records, perhaps,” he suggested. Mrs.Norris walked closer to his feet and hissed at him, and he willed himself not to step away.

“Yes, precious. The boy doesn’t understand,” Filch cooed gently to his cat. So he was still boy to the cat. Then he turned to Adrian and reverted back to his harsher tone. “Now are you going to follow us or you going to run back to the castle?” he asked. It was an accusation, a warning, and a challenge all rolled in one. 

Biting back a retort, he held up his hands. “You’d know better than me, Mr.Filch,” he said, giving the man a wry smile. Mrs.Norris started strutting towards the forest, Filch followed, and Adrian trailed after. He had his wand and his broom. And if things went sideways, he didn’t have to outpace the beast, just the old caretaker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?
> 
> \- McWriter


	5. Dragon Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malfoy's generosity. Harry Potter has something else to say. First task, a.k.a. How to Steal From Your Dragon.

Follow up on Foster (the ~~squid~~ infirmary kid.)

Face a dragon.

Write to father.

Complete Charms essay.

* * *

Malfoy struck up a conversation with him over breakfast that week. It seemed as though Skeeter’s article had led him to extrapolating Adrian’s views on Potter so that they matched his own. His offer of aid, even if the reason for his aid was as clear as a Demiguise in hiding. could almost have passed for humble if it wasn’t for the smug look plastered on his face.

“Are you trying to patronize me, Malfoy?”

“Call it what you want. I’m simply trying to make sure you’re well-equipped to crush the competition.”

“I’ll keep your… generosity in mind, should I need it.”

“Good. Just remember, anything at all, you only have to ask.”

Really, where had he been when Adrian had been planning to extract the nature of the first task out of the some Ministry lackey in the Department of Magical Sports and Games? Still, it wouldn’t do to turn him down. Malfoy senior had considerable clout in certain places. And Adrian wasn’t above taking every advantage he could get his hands on.

* * *

Once the initial shock of seeing the dragons passed, Adrian resumed his preparations with renewed vigour. He couldn’t afford to spend too much of his time cursing his luck, after all.

He penned a letter to his parents alluding to the nature of the task. Tiberius tried to pry the information out of him, but he refused to give him anything. It wasn’t that he couldn’t trust him with it, but he had his own fears about the task and didn’t want the burden of his. Terrence and Kenneth were let in on the secret out of necessity. There were four dragons, he would have employ a bit of divide and conquer.

“The dragons are obviously from a reserve, so it’s not going to be an outright to the death,” Terrence said, not taking his eyes away from the book he was perusing.

Kenneth snorted. “Thank Salazar for small favours.”

“Right,” Adrian said, briefly pausing in his pacing in front of the fire. “Taming then?”

Terrence looked up from his book, raised an eyebrow. “Taming a dragon is a near-impossible task for a lone untrained wizard.”

“Wouldn’t that make a game of capture the dragon more likely to be the task? Challenge the Champions and all that?” Kenneth said.

“Not unless they want all four Champions to fail the first task,” Terrence replied.

Adrian pressed his lips together. That left the two next best options. They would have to take something from the dragon’s hoard. Or they would have to protect something the dragon wanted to get its claws on. And he had thought his CoMC days were behind him. He voiced his thoughts.

“Protect something from the dragon is unlikely,” Terrence said thoughtfully.

Kenneth nodded in agreement. “How do you convince the dragon to go after something? Show it something too good and it’s going to get reckless in its pursuit. Show it something not good enough and it won’t give chase.”

True, finding a balance was situational and Adrian didn’t think they would want to take that chance in the middle of the tournament. Or at least, he hoped they wouldn’t.

“But more importantly, the dragon could distract itself with the audience, either in its recklessness or in its boredom,” Terrence said.

“So stealing from its hoard then,” Adrian said. Dragons were fiercely protective creatures. They would protect their hoard, whatever its worth. The Champion attempting to steal from it would easily draw and hold the attention of the dragon. They might be distracted by the audience, but they wouldn’t give up what was theirs. Not easily, not without a fight.

“Seems likely, mate,” Kenneth said, frowning lightly in sympathy.

He started them on gathering the more relevant details about each of the dragons. Meanwhile, he tackled the problem of the task from a high-level. How does one steal from a dragon’s hoard? The question buzzed about in his head in every waking moment, and he gave up trying to quiet it. It would be there until the task was done and over with.

* * *

Adrian’s raised his eyebrows, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Potter looked positively grim as he made his statement, though he supposed it was a heavy statement. A group of lower-year Ravenclaws whispered and giggled among themselves as they passed by them and Adrian acknowledged them with a polite nod of his head before turning back to Potter.

“Potter,” he said, with a slight close-lipped smile, “we at Slytherin don’t wait around for victory to be handed to us. We believe in being more, shall we say, proactive towards our goals.” Potter simply blinked at the words, taking his own sweet time to understand. Adrian sighed, “I already knew what the first task is going to be.”

Potter’s eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. “Oh,” he said.

“Quite,” Adrian confirmed. “If you’ll excuse me?”

Potter mumbled what sounded like an of course as he stepped out of the way to let him pass. Adrian’s amusement dropped once he turned past the corridor. All right, Potter had somehow found out about the dragons, he could stomach that. But why in Merlin’s did he tell him? Was he trying to make up for rigging the selection? Was he hoping for something in return? Well, tough luck.

* * *

Swedish Short-Snout. He tried to be grateful that it wasn’t the Hungarian Horntail, but with the little model of the Swedish Short-Snout in his hand silently roaring up at him, he couldn’t bring himself to be so. Agile flyer and dangerous fire, he recalled Terrence’s words. Like that didn’t apply to nearly every known dragon species.

He closed his fist around the model, shoved it into one of his pockets, and sealed it there. It jostled in its prison by his chest as started pacing back and forth in his end of the tent, trying to keep his lunch from coming back up. The anticipation for the starting whistle was driving his already frazzled nerves towards a complete breakdown. He deliberately cleared his head as he waited to enter the arena. He had a plan. Protego wouldn’t block the flame, he had to keep away from the dragon’s line of fire at any cost. And he had to keep it on the ground. Easy as pie.

The starting whistle went off, and he stepped into the stadium. Immediately, he disillusioned himself. The crowd commenced a jingle with his name, but he pushed them out from his mind as he focused solely on the dragon in the pit, its silvery blue skin shining under the blaze of the sun. They had set up the ground to mimic terrain suitable for the creature, but not the weather. The dragon was resting, curled up by its hoard of eggs.

He raised his wand at the golden egg, whispered Accio. The egg didn’t budge. So they had unfortunately remembered to charm it against being summoned. Plan B then.

He silently trailed along the edge of the pit in order to abide by the first rule of dealing with the Swedish Short-Snout; it would take mere seconds for him to lose the competition and his life if it breathed its fire at him. He should clear the terrain, at least for the sake of a quick exit, but any sound would attract the attention of the dragon. When he had found a suitable position, far enough from the line of the dragon’s fire but close enough for a retreat, and unbeknownst to him the crowd had been growing restless with his slow start, he unsealed his pocket.

Taking out the model of the Swedish Short-Snout, which then looked around curiously at its environment instead of clamouring to take a shot at him, he cast a series of charms on it to verify his initial observations. It would work, but he still reinforced it by adding additional charms on it for extra assurance. Then he started levitating it away from him to the far end of the stadium. The non-verbal was not strictly necessary as the crowd was making enough noise to cover him, but he didn’t want to take the chance. When he was suitably satisfied with the little dragon’s position, he started casting an Engorgement Charm on it. Big enough to attract attention, not big enough to blow up. Then he removed the Disillusionment Charm on it.

The murmurs in the crowd grew on finally seeing a little action and the larger dragon raised its head at the commotion. Then he went on the offence and fired a well-aimed Reducto near the little dragon. As he had hoped, both dragons took the bait. The fake one regained its aggression and the real one acknowledged the threat. The Swedish Short-Snout rose from its position, its tail raised, and snarled at the small dragon. For a final touch, he created an eye-catching explosion by the model, and the Short-Snout charged at the smaller dragon.

And Adrian ran to the hoard.

Run. Run. Jump. He knew he had time, the little model would last long enough. But what he didn’t quite anticipate was the crowd exploding into mad jubilation as they watched his disillusioned self grab the egg.

The noise broke through his singular sight of the task in front him and he took a split-second glance at the dragon, realizing with a jolt that if his concentration had broken, so would the dragon’s focus on the distraction. Egg in hand, he ran the fastest he could. He tried disillusioning the egg as he ran, but it refused to the charm. He just had to get into the Champions’ tent. He just had to-

He could see the dragon in the periphery of his vision, turning its head in his direction. Not yet. Not yet. For a second, its eyes skimmed over to him to its hoard, then doubled back as it sensed his small, blurry figure racing across the ground.

“Protego!” he shouted, still running as he anticipated the dragon’s move, knowing the shield wouldn’t really work. Not really. But he was almost there. Almost.

The blue fire rushed in his direction and he dived past the finish line. And he didn’t hear the celebration of the crowd over Madam Pomfrey’s whispered hushing.

After slathering some potent burn-healing paste on his face, she let him step out to see his points.

Eight from Madam Maxine.

Eight from Headmaster Dumbledore.

Seven from Bagman.

Five from Karkaroff.

Though the crowd seemed to cheer at the points, Adrian did not celebrate. His score didn’t really matter. Not until all the Champions had theirs would he know if he had done well or not.

Adrian chose not watch any of the others try their hand at the task but sat in the tent and contended himself with listening to Bagman’s commentary. He wasn’t going to willingly subject himself to the sight of a dragon for a very long time. Perhaps a lifetime.

Tiberius came to see him partway through Delcaour’s attempt at the task, gave him a quick analysis of the crowd’s reaction to his time in the enclosure, then hurried off to catch Krum at the task.

After all the Champions had faced their dragon and the rankings for the first task had been determined, Bagman called them back into the Champions’ tent to inform them about the clue inside the egg and the date of the second task

The festivities in the den had already started by the time Adrian made it there. Of course they would use any excuse to throw a fete. Never mind that third place was a sorry position to be at, especially after being burned by dragon-fire. Oh, they told Adrian he was in second place, but with both Potter and Krum tied for first, it didn’t feel like second.

He indulged the Slytherins in their curiosity, however, setting up the golden egg in the middle of the common room for them to gawk at. Several intense discussions about the Champions’ strategies sprung up in the crowd, with more than one of them putting out alternate, ‘better’ plans. Adrian didn’t bother commenting on their ideas, didn’t join the debate, he had given enough of his energy to the first task. He excused himself early from the celebrations, not bothering with an excuse as his day was a sufficient excuse.

He stashed the egg in his dorm, penned a letter to his parents that he was alive and well (even though he suspected Tiberius had likely already written to them about the same.)

After stopping by the Owlery, he strolled to the student office. He knocked on the open door of the room and Brookland looked up from the table she was working at.

“Hi,” she said, smiling lightly at him.

“Hi.” Adrian returned her smile as he walked towards her table, moved a chair next to hers, and dropped onto it.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” she said, looking at him for a few moments before she turned back to the parchment in front of her.

“I wasn’t expecting you alone. Where’s your partner?” he asked, leaning over to look at what she working on.

“Celebration in the Gryffindor tower,” she answered, glancing almost apologetically at him.

Adrian pressed his lips together to keep from scowling, then he leaned back in his chair and looked towards the open door. He startled when he felt her fingers at his jaw, gently turning his face in her direction so she could see the part of his face that was still healing from the burn. She pulled her hand away as soon as his eyes met hers, then he resumed his breathing. “Does it still hurt?” she asked softly.

He gently cleared his throat. “No, Madam Pomfrey was quick in dealing with it. And Professor Snape had the potions ready to go.”

“Good.” She smiled, and the right thing, the reasonable thing to do would be to ask her out. He swallowed that thought. The tournament felt like the sword of Damocles hanging over his head. He didn’t want to ask her to play second fiddle to that, not when she might possibly mean something much more by… whatever this was. Besides, he didn’t want the distraction from the cup, no matter how enticing he found her. Third place, for Merlin’s sake.

He directed the conversation to the essay she was working on, and later when she got up for her patrol, he offered to accompany her in place of the Gryffindor who had wormed his way out of his duties for the night.

As they strolled the relatively empty corridors, he casually detoured their conversation towards the Yule Ball, burying his hesitation as he did so. He needed a date to the Ball, at least. Beyond that, he would think about later.

He was exhausted to the bone by the time he returned to the Slytherin common room, and he completely ignored the egg as he slipped into his bed. He had earned a night’s rest without worry, without a thought of dragons or life-threatening tasks, with only dreams of dancing with a girl he liked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Milestone one.
> 
> \- McWriter


	6. Date Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two conversations in the library. Or why Tiberius needs to stick by Shaw and why Adrian needs to keep away from Krum.

Why anyone was pretending the Yule Ball was a bigger surprise than it was, he wasn’t sure. Every decent book on the history of the Triwizard Tournament clearly stated the Yule Ball was a traditional part of it. Of course, most of the students didn't bother to do their reading. Ever since its announcement, the Ball was the talk of the castle. New couples were hurriedly forming among the years allowed to attend the Ball, and many in the lower years started plotting their way in.

The paper dragon came to life in his hand, a vividly detailed depiction of a Swedish Short-Snout. Adrian took the little critter in his hand. It writhed as he stroked its paper back, scratched at his palm as he whispered into its apparent ear. He tried to put it back on the desk, but the little dragon clung to his finger like a lifeline. 

“Go on,” he urged it, and the dragon finally let go of him, turned circles around itself in an effort to catch its tail. Adrian prodded the little lump towards the edge of the table. It seemed to understand, because it immediately took off, flapping its tiny wings as it elegantly flew out of the library. 

“Dramatic.”

Adrian turned to Tiberius, standing against a bookshelf with his arms crossed and an amused look on his face.

“Sweet,” Adrian corrected him, tapping with his wand at a paper badger trying to climb atop the stack of books on the table, turning it back into a lifeless mass. 

Tiberius walked to his table, dumped his bag on one chair and took another himself. “Who are you taking to the Ball then?” he asked.

Adrian picked up his quill, resumed his Charms’ essay. “If you’re here to chat, you can go bother someone else.” He didn’t have to look up to know that Tiberius rolled his eyes at that.

“If you answer the question, I can leave you to your work,” he said.

“Brookland,” he said.

Tiberius jumped forward in his seat. “Bailey Brookland?” he asked in a hushed tone. “Why her?”

Adrian turned up to look at him. So he couldn’t leave him to his work. He narrowed his eyes at him. “You tell me,” he said. Tiberius looked like he was going to protest, but then he mimicked the expression, recognizing the challenge for what it was.

“You’re together?” Tiberius asked, and Adrian raised an eyebrow in response.

Tiberius sighed. “You don’t already have a girlfriend. It has to be someone from Hogwarts because you want to represent the school. Slytherins are out because that’s arrogance. Gryffindors are out because, well, because they’re Gryffindors. Ravenclaw should be the logical choice.” Tiberius stopped here, turned to Adrian who raised an eyebrow in waiting.

“The answer is Brookland,” he hinted.

Tiberius frowned for a moment. “She’s a front-runner for Head Girl. Hufflepuff haven’t been really pleased with you as Champion, so this puts you in better standing with them. Fleur’s taking Davies, so Ravenclaw can’t really complain and then they don’t hold grudges as bad as badgers do. Did I get everything?” he asked.

“Pretty much,” he said.

“You think she’ll go with you?” Tiberius asked, slumping back into his chair. “Of course, she’d be a fool to refuse.”

“She has already agreed, or I wouldn’t have told you,” he said.

“What was the dragon for?” he asked, furrowing his brows as he looked in the direction the dragon had gone.

Adrian leaned back in his chair. “She’s in the Hufflepuff common room at the moment. Guess what will be the talk of the castle for the next week?”

Tiberius shook his head lightly. “Did you tell her you like her? To get her to go with you, I mean?” he asked, frowning again in apparent disapproval.

“Who’s to say I don’t?” Adrian replied.

“Do you?” He narrowed his eyes. “Nothing wrong with that, of course. She’s all right, you know?”

Adrian shrugged. “Not that it’s your business, but it’s complicated”, he said, then smirked. “As for getting her to go with me, Walsh is an annoyingly persistent ex, and I guaranteed her he would catch us in flagrante delicto even if we have to go all the way up to the entrance of the Gryffindor common room.”

Tiberius pretended to retch and Adrian turned back to his essay.

“I had to lie to Bulstrode that I had a date,” Tiberius said, grimacing, and Adrian’s head shot up.

“What?!” he asked, far louder than he had intended, winced towards the aisle hoping Madam Pince hadn’t heard that.

“Bulstrode. I told her I was already going with someone else. Not sure she bought it, but anyway, she’s going to know I lied or think I was dumped when I don’t turn up to the Ball. Are you sure you can’t get me in?” Tiberius asked, completely nonchalant to the fact that a Slytherin fourth-year had asked him to the Yule Ball.

Adrian put down his quill. “When did she ask you?” he asked calmly.

Tiberius crossed his arms across his chest. “Two days ago. That’s not the point. I don’t have a date.”

Adrian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Were you planning on telling me this anytime soon? We’ve talked about this before, Ty. You have to tell me-”

“You’re not my keeper,” Tiberius cut in, setting his jaw.

He looked up, frowned. “Did anyone else ask you?”

“I told you I don’t have a date or weren’t you listening?” Tiberius said, trying to brush back the hair from the eyes out of habit and getting frustrated when he found none there.

“I’m asking if you were approached,” he said.

“And what if I was?” he asked, now glaring.

“Who? I want names,” Adrian said, pointedly holding his glare before shaking his head in exasperation. Then he grabbed his quill, turned backed to his parchment. “Stick by Shaw. They won’t risk the rejection with a witness around.”

Tiberius was silent for several moments, and Adrian was almost beginning to think he had made his point. Then Tiberius grabbed his bag, jolted up from his seat, hissed, “Maybe I won’t reject the next one then,” before he marched out of the library. Adrian was about to rebuke him before he remembered they were in the library.

The sheer audacity of Bulstrode, he rubbed at the weariness in his eyes. While Tiberius had showed enough sense to dodge her, he was still a kid. And with the way he had charged out just then, he clearly couldn’t be left on his own. Explaining the convoluted nature of Slytherin House politics to him would only earn Adrian some eye rolls, and bluntly telling him he was being asked solely for being the Champion’s brother would earn him more glares. Maybe he would have to talk to Shaw himself, although he didn’t like that idea much either.

* * *

During one of his morning flights, Adrian came across Krum swimming laps in the lake. They gave each other polite nods the first two times that happened. The third time, Krum had his broom out and kicked up to join Adrian in the skies.

It was not a contest, at least they didn’t explicitly say it was. But when they were going neck and neck and Krum inched forward to take the lead, Adrian told himself it was only because he was still sluggish that early in the morning.

They fell into a routine then. Adrian went through his training in the air and Krum went through his in the water, then by unspoken consent they worked on joint drills in the air. One day, Adrian suggested a challenge in the lake as Krum clearly had the advantage in the air. Of course, when he made the suggestion he didn’t know that Krum swam without warming charms or really charms of any sort. He just swam, like a Muggle. And Adrian found himself shaking from the cold after he had lost that race (it was freezing, for Merlin’s sake.)

They talked little, whether due to their dispositions or the fact that they were going against each other in the tournament. And they were careful not to go in the direction of the competition. The routine managed to stick, however, and conversations grew easier. Adrian even managed to wheedle out a little bit of Krum’s Quidditch regimen from him (professional players were notoriously secretive about their practice routines.) Of course, it did not come free of charge.

That was how Adrian found himself walking past the rows of books in the library, easing his grip on the transfiguration book he had been reading. He couldn’t quite believe he was stuck with that task. That was his reward for striking up an acquaintance with Krum, he groused to himself. They had been talking about latent transfigurations when somehow Krum had jumped from Conjuration to ballroom dancing like it was an acceptable bend in the conversation. And now Adrian was there, walking to a girl to ask her if she wouldn’t please mind talking to Viktor Krum. Like any girl in the school would turn him down.

Adrian turned to a Magizoology aisle and was brought up short when he saw Hermione Granger leaning against a bookshelf, buried deep in a book whose title he couldn’t see. Krum had told him that the girl was here, that she was the only one here. He meant Granger? She didn’t notice him, and Adrian looked back to see if Krum had decided to follow him. No such luck. He turned back to Granger who was now frowning at the book. He could have laughed at the absurdity of it. Hermione Granger, of all people. And Krum was nervous about approaching her. Adrian found his lips curling up as she made a strangled sound at the book, buried herself more deeply in it.

He cleared his throat, and she jumped up at the intrusion, fumbling to keep the book from falling out of her hands.

“Granger,” he said, nodding in greeting.

“Uhm, Pucey…” she said, sounding uncertain about his name. She looked over his shoulder like she expected to see others there. “Did you want something?”

Straight to the point. Well, he could play that game.

“Do you have a date to the ball?” he asked.

Her jaw dropped, and she gaped at him incredulously. Then she pulled herself together, said, “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.” She turned to the bookshelf and started perusing. 

Neither do I, he thought. Oh Krum definitely owed him for this. Big time.

“Just answer the question. And you can relax, I’m not going to ask you if you say no.” He saw a faint blush heating up her cheeks, and she whirled on him. “Of course you won’t! Not pure enough for you, am I?” she said, and the colour in her face seemed to double with rage.

He put up his hands in surrender. “Don’t get your wand in a knot, Granger. I can assume you don’t have a date then?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

She turned away from him and started walking the other way. “It’s none of your business!”

“And is it Krum’s?” That stopped her, and he stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Girls. She turned around and narrowed her eyes at him, waiting for him to explain. “Krum wants to know if you have a date. I may be wrong but I think he intends to ask you to go with him if you don’t,” Adrian said, sparing her the trouble of asking.

“And he sent you to ask me this?” she asked sceptically.

“He seems to think I’m his personal liaison with Hogwarts, yes. Wanted me to use my wicked Slytherin skills to trick the information out of you,” he said pointedly. “But we both know you don’t have the patience for a full conversation with me, so I figured I’d get straight to the point,” he added with a shrug.

“Oh.” She looked at him curiously, lips parted, her grip on the book clutched to her chest weakening, and Adrian felt a strange urge to fidget. Well, if she looked at a guy like that, he supposed he could see where Krum was coming from. Fortunately, she looked away to the nearby bookshelf before he could give in to the urge. When she started biting on her lower lip in thought, Adrian stopped that train.

“So do you have a date? Yes or no?” he asked again.

She looked back to him, clutched the book harder again. “Well, you can tell Krum that he can find out for himself,” she said primly, with confidence that was clearly forced.

Adrian smirked. “No date then.”

“I didn’t-” she started to protest as the colour rushed back to her cheeks, but he turned around and started walking away before she could go any further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> \- McWriter


	7. On Ballroom Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yule Ball.

Adrian whittled down the list to one name, Tracey Davis. That was assuming Tiberius’s supposed date was a fourth-year Slytherin. Fifth-years and above knew Adrian too well to try such a thing, he hoped. It could be someone from one of the other three houses, but he doubted that was the case with the way Tiberius was keeping it a secret. Davis herself was no more forthcoming in that regard, her date was a mystery in the den. But at least she behaved no differently towards Adrian; they had as little interaction as they did before his nagging doubt had started.

His suspicions were confirmed on the day of the Yule Ball. He stepped outside the Slytherin common room and found Tiberius, dressed in fine formal robes, standing by himself against a wall. A small handful of other students were also about, waiting nervously for their dates.

“Do you want us to stick around?” Kenneth asked him. Terrence raised his eyebrow in the same question, while Harvey, his date for the night (told you so, Kenneth), narrowed her eyes as she glanced between him and Tiberius.

“And keep Corbyn waiting? I don’t think so. Go on ahead, I’ll catch up,” he said, ushering them on their way.

Adrian walked slowly to Tiberius’s side, who furrowed his brows the closer he got, and he took a spot next to him. He kept his silence while Tiberius continued to throw small frowns in his direction.

“What are you doing?” Tiberius asked finally.

“Waiting,” Adrian replied casually.

“I don’t want you to,” he said.

“I want to,” he said with a shrug.

Tiberius clenched his fists, whispered harshly, “I don’t want you to. Why do you… you’re making me look bad! Don’t you have a date to pick up?”

Adrian turned to him, waited for him to meet his eyes. “I do,” he said calmly. “I want to make sure you do too.”

Tiberius looked to the door of the common room, crossed his arm, said softer, “I wish you wouldn’t.”

Adrian frowned, glanced in the direction of the other nervous students. “Okay,” he said. Tiberius jerked his head in his direction. “I’ll see you in the Hall, all right? Bring Davis over to say hello,” he added.

Adrian didn’t wait for a reply, but started the trek to the Hufflepuff common room. Brookland had assured him that he could simply wait by the entrance to the Great Hall, but his mother would tut at him if he did that. He dragged his feet as far as around the first bend before he gave up. Pulling out his wand, he quickly disillusioned himself, and went back to the previous corridor. He positioned himself along the wall, a readily overlooked spot where he had a view of both Tiberius and the entrance to the den. Br-Bailey (I’m not going with you if you’re going to call me Brookland all evening) would have to wait, and if the Ball had to start a bit behind schedule because a Champion was late, well that couldn’t be helped.

Fortunately, he wasn’t delayed too long.

Zabini and Greengrass stepped out of the door arm in arm, followed immediately by Davis. For a second, Tiberius tensed where he stood. Davis searched the corridor, then smiled lightly at him and he stepped forward to offer her his arm. Adrian couldn’t hear them from where he stood, but he assumed Tiberius exchanged greetings with the three Slytherins. Before the four of them could start towards the stairs to the Great Hall. Adrian hurried beyond the corridor, then removing his disillusionment, walked with quick steps to the Hufflepuff common room.

He picked up Bailey at the doors to the sett. She looked radiant and his mouth ran dry when she smiled softly at him. She was wearing an elegant ball gown in a deep shade of purple with streaks of silver that caught the eye whenever she moved. The dress was cut off the shoulder with a low neckline, and her arms were bare save for the elbow-length gloves. Adrian kissed the air near her cheek in greeting, suppressed the urge to bury his face in her neck as he took in her heady fragrance.

The entrance hall was emptying when they reached it, as students made their way into the Great Hall. Adrian and Bailey lined up with the other Champions and Professor McGonagall lead them into the hall to the applause of the crowd.

The Hall was decorated much more grandly than it would have been for a regular Christmas at the castle. Adrian focused more on the crowd as they walked to the top table, picked out Tiberius clapping politely next to Davis.

They found themselves seated between Granger, who was completely engrossed in conversation with Krum on her other side, and Roger Davis, who was completely engrossed in staring at Delacour on his other side. Bailey nudged her leg against his to gain his attention, and she gave him an amused smile as they listened to Delacour’s criticism of the Hogwarts décor. Her leg stayed touching his throughout the meal, and he paid no attention to any other conversations at the table.

Adrian liked the formality of the opening dance. Bailey was easy company and a suitable dancer. It didn’t hurt that he could feel her warmth under his hands, that her smile and her eyes were solely focused on him as they swayed in the middle of the Great Hall to the first song. Adrian had been to formal balls before, and had always been relegated to the children’s corner. But right then, he was a Champion. He was in the spotlight. And there wasn’t anything childlike in the way he was feeling acutely aware of Bailey.

The music started to change, and he let go of Bailey, turned and bowed to Granger as he took her hand.

“May I have this dance, Miss Granger?” It was a formality, of course. The answer was going to be, “You may.”

He took her in his arms and they started moving about the room. She looked a sight today, really the only reason he had instantly recognized her was because he had already known she was Krum’s date.

“Thank you,” she said suddenly, lightly squeezing his shoulder to gain his attention. He looked at her, raised an eyebrow in question. “Viktor’s been really nice. And you did introduce us, in a way,” she added.

“Don’t mention it. I merely wanted to stop hearing about the pretty girl in the library.” She blushed all the way down to her neck, and he brought his eyes back up to hers before he could start wondering how much lower the colour went. Merlin, he hadn’t had nearly enough wine for that. Curse Krum.

“Well, thank you anyway,” she said, smiled. He nodded stoically at her, and they continued their round in silence before he handed her over to Potter and took Delacour’s hands in his.

Once Bailey was back in his arms, the dance floor opened to the other couples in the room. He danced again with her, this time the formality dropping a little because there weren’t as many eyes on them.

Then with her on his arm, he made the cursory round of the Professors’ tables, There was no need to linger because he really was only particularly well-acquainted with Professor Snape, or what constituted as acquainted when it came to the Potions Master, but the man was nowhere in sight. In any case, he doubted the Professor would have given him more than a nod with Bailey on his arm. He graciously accepted the praise Professor Flitwick heaped on him (the Ravenclaw head of house was meritocratic to the core, Adrian suspected the Goblin blood), mildly amused himself with Professor Sprout’s wary pride at seeing her darling bagder with the Slytherin champion, exchanged polite greetings and meaningless small talk as he lead Bailey around.

When he started moving towards the judges’ table, she tugged at his arm and looked at him with a half-smile as she gestured to where her friend Moore was beckoning her. Adrian narrowed his eyes at the judges’ table, well it only Bagman and Weasley. He let her go join Moore and moved in Weasleys direction by himself.

Percy Weasley was the only Weasley Adrian was somewhat acquainted with, as he had been Head Boy last year when Adrian had made prefect. Adrian’s opinion of him had been cemented during the first prefect meeting on the train when he had realized that he was nothing like the terrible two. Granted, it was a low bar, but Adrian had been relieved all the same. Percy Weasley had his shortcomings, but after years of associating red hair with trouble, he was a breath of fresh air.

Weasley stuck out like a sore thumb there. He did not appear to be friendly with Bagman (not surprising, the dastardly duo were more likely get chummy with him), and was observing the Ball on his own. Clearly, ruling the prefects with an iron fist had not helped his popularity. Still, he worked directly with Crouch so he could hardly worry about how many friends he had among the schoolchildren. A minute into the conversation, when it seemed like Weasley was intent on not letting him get away easily, Adrian wondered if he could convince Bailey to dance with him. That he was the assistant to the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation would not work as an argument on her, so he would have to think of something else.

Adrian excused himself as he caught Harvey’s eyes, then he took her off of Terrence’s hands for a dance, poking fun at the Ball and its participants in a murmured conversation with her as they moved about the room. He danced with Corbyn next, as Kenneth dragged Harvey away. He hit the drinks table while he scanned the room, spotted Palmer among the cloistered group of seventh-year Slytherins, and grabbed two drinks before he made his way to her. Bailey found him at the end of his dance with Palmer, and Adrian danced with Bailey again, convinced her to accept a dance with Weasley should he be so inclined. He nudged Weasley to ask Bailey for a dance, and sought out Moore to dance with him so they would be even. Then he danced with Cho Chang when Diggory took Bailey for a spin, before finally seating himself by the drinks while Bailey and Moore gushed about the Ball beside him.

As he scanned the room, drink in hand, Tiberius lead Davis over to their seats. Putting away plans of resting his feet for the remainder of the night, Adrian got up when they neared them, bowed lightly to Davis. “May I have the next dance, Miss Davis?”

She returned the bow, “You may,” she said, then straightened again.

Bailey chuckled beside him, and he saw Davis stiffen before he turned. “Merlin, you’re stuffy,” Bailey said, grinning. Then she turned to Tiberius. “Next song, what do you say you and I take a twirl together?” she asked.

“Sure, Bailey,” Tiberius replied, returning her grin. When had he started calling her Bailey? Adrian shook his head before leading Davis onto the floor.

Davis took her cue from him and remained silent as they started to dance.

“I didn’t realize you knew my brother well enough to ask him to the Ball,” he said, keeping his voice low to exclude the others on the floor.

To her credit, she didn’t break their pace, didn’t startle. She was expecting it, good. “I didn’t,” she said.

“Didn’t?” he asked.

“I think, by now, we know each other well enough for a school dance,” she replied with a light shrug.

“Of course,” he said. Her eyes broke away from his, shifted down to his chest briefly, before coming back up.

There really was nothing different about that dance compared to his previous ones. (The ones with Bailey were in a different category altogether, but he would dwell on that later, preferably when he was alone and preferably when he was alone alone with her.) Yet it was completely different. Davis did not have the refinement of Palmer, or the confidence of Harvey. Or the ease of Corbyn, or the cheer of Moore. With the freedom to focus on her from up close, he could see that her breathing was deliberately even, that her hands had a grip a little too tight to be relaxed, that she swallowed air when her eyes darted away from his. Clearly she was expecting a more thorough interrogation.

He was reminded of Foster, for some reason, and he crushed the fondness that bubbled up in him. Davis was not a kid. She had been in Slytherin House long enough to understand his reservations. Still, when Tiberius twirled Bailey beside them, both radiating amusement, he held back his questions. Tiberius hadn’t been stood up, hadn’t been set up for ridicule. And it was just a dance anyway.

He slowly lead Davis to the edge of the floor, bowed to her again as he let her go. She excused herself to join her friends, and Adrian settled down on a seat to follow Bailey and Tiberius about the room with his eyes. As the music changed, the two split ways, and a Durmstrang student approached her for a dance. Bailey, being Bailey, obliged him. When their dance ended, it seemed as though another student from Durmstrang was waiting for her. She turned him down, pointing in Adrian’s direction, and Adrian felt himself subconsciously straighten in his seat. Bailey walked to join him then.

“Your feet hurt too?” she asked with a half-smile, sliding into the seat beside his.

He handed her a drink as she slipped off her shoes. “I’m hardly in as much demand as you are.”

She tilted her head at him, looked at him with an almost-innocent smile. “Is that jealousy, Adrian?”

Adrian raised an eyebrow, draped his arm over the back of her chair and moved his lips close to her ear. “Depends. Do you think I should dance with Palmer again?”

Bailey shoved her elbow lightly at his chest, before leaning into him. “I think we’re both tired of being on our feet and we should sit out for a while.” He gently brought his arm down from the back of her chair to rest over her shoulder, and she moved more heavily into him, Sitting out sounded like a wonderful idea.

* * *

Adrian and Bailey disillusioned each other after their run in with Professor Snape patrolling the corridors. Adrian knew he had not bought the half-baked excuse he had made for their presence away from the Hall, but he had let them go unharmed (although Adrian strongly suspected it would come back to bite at him later). The disillusionment was not strictly necessary this far away from the Great Hall, and he doubted it would fool any of the keener eyes. He followed Bailey as she lead him up the stairs in the direction of the Gryffindor common room, his hand in hers, his heart thumping in anticipation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly at the midpoint of the story.
> 
> \- McWriter


	8. Rendezvous in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alcove tryst. Teenage dramatics. And no peace at the lakeside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-Con (implied).
> 
> This chapter contains brief mention of past trauma of a sexual nature. More specifically, it has two lines about an underage character and a character over the age of consent. Child molestation. Two lines. Not graphic. The action stops before anything explicit happens. But the warning is important all the same.
> 
> This story was moved from a T to an M rating for the same reason.
> 
> You read at your own discretion.

Bailey pulled Adrian into an alcove, and they dropped the Disillusionment Charms.

“This is it?” he asked, crinkling his nose as he looked about the dark niche, wondering how many generations of Gryffindors had been there.

Bailey lit up the end of her wand, grinned at him under its light. “It’s a hotspot.”

He shuddered, and she grinned wider. “How do you want to do this then?” he asked.

Bailey lightly tilted her head to a side as she looked at him. “For starters, I don’t think there should be this much distance between us if we’re supposed to be making out.”

Trying to keep his calm, Adrian moved further into the alcove until they were standing opposite each other. They remained silent, in waiting.

After a while, Bailey pulled off her gloves, held the pair out towards him. He took them uncertainly, raised an eyebrow at her in question. In answer, she stepped closer to him, slowly raised her hand and started running it through his hair.

“What are you doing?” he asked softly, sharply aware that his breathing was growing rapid at the proximity.

“Foreplay,” she said, just as softly, a light smirk on her face. She mussed his hair, watching her hands the entire time, and he kept his hands to himself with an iron will as he studied her face.

She brought her hand down to his chest, started working on his cravat. “You can take liberties too, you know?” she said in a teasing tone as she continued to fuss with his outfit.

He watched her keenly for a few moments, before letting go of his control and moving his hand up to her waist. He gently tugged her closer, started caressing her curves with a thumb.

She smiled lightly, bit her lips, then stepped back and his hand dropped. She brought her free hand up to start on her dress, her eyes on him but his eyes on her hand. She slipped off the top of her dress on one side, completely baring a shoulder and the smooth upper curve of a breast, and his eyes snapped to hers. She wasn’t smiling at that moment, and the look in her eyes in the warmth of the Lumos was far more sinful.

“Bailey-” he started, his voice dropping down in warning, but she didn’t let him finish his statement, stepped back into his space so that her body was flush against his. Adrian took in a sharp breath.

The alarm they had set outside in the corridor went off in that instance. Slipping one of her hands to the back of his neck, she tugged him down, murmured “Nox” against his lips, then kissed him firmly as her wand-light went off and they were enveloped only in the dim light from the corridor.

He closed his eyes, readily returned the kiss, his hands going to her waist to pull her closer. She leaned into him, hummed in approval as she rested a palm against his chest, snaked the other to grip his hair. Adrian pressed open-mouthed, needy kisses against her lips that left him needing more. He pulled her lower lip between his, grazed his teeth against it. She pressed her hips against his in response, and Adrian gripped her waist tighter as he suppressed a groan of want.

“Merlin, fuck!” a voice came, and the moment shattered.

Adrian’s hand that had been inching towards Bailey’s half-exposed breast and hers that had been sliding inside his robes, both moved back. Smiling knowingly at him, Bailey hurriedly pulled up her sleeve back over her shoulder, and they turned to the intruders as the harsh light of a Lumos fell on them.

“Bailey? What the – him?! Really?” Walsh asked harshly, his hand shaking his lit wand, while his date, Lewis, a fifth-year Gryffindor, frowned beside him.

“Hello to you too, Benjamin, and Lewis, isn’t it?” Bailey said calmly.

“You’re throwing yourself at this Slytherin shite?” Walsh continued, his lips curling.

“Watch your words, Walsh,” Adrian said, discreetly palming his wand. He had nearly forgotten where they were, why they had come there at all.

Walsh turned to him. “Or what? Not getting any in the snake pit, Pucey? Is that it? She bat her eyes and you lure her into an alcove?”

“Well, to be fair to him, I did more than bat my eyes,” Bailey said, and she slid an arm around Adrian’s midsection and leaned into him, a small smile on her face. Following her lead, he placed his arm over her shoulder, deliberately caressing her shoulder.

Walsh’s eyes widened momentarily before his face flushed and he clenched his jaw. “A right tart you turned out, Brookland,” he said tightly.

Bailey stiffened briefly under his arm, and Adrian gripped her shoulder tighter. This was not his fight, he couldn’t hex Walsh. Not yet, not here.

“Ben, I’m leaving,” Lewis said, her arms crossed and her lips pressed tight, and then she started to storm out of the alcove.

“Wait,” Walsh said half-heartedly, before he sent a last glare in their direction and followed his date.

“Oh before I forget,” Adrian said, and the two stopped in their tracks, turned to him with narrowed eyes. Adrian made a show of pulling out his pocket watch and taking a look at it. Then he looked at Lewis, said in his best prefect voice, “10 points from Gryffindor, Miss Lewis, for...” his eyes jumped pointedly at Walsh and one of his eyebrows raised, “… poor decision making.” Back to Lewis, he said, “It’s past curfew.”

Lewis twisted her mouth.

“You bastard-” Walsh started. Lewis turned around and continued her march out. Walsh watched her helplessly for a moment, then muttered a curse under his breath and hurried after her.

The alcove was plunged into near-darkness again. Adrian closed his eyes briefly as he squeezed Bailey’s shoulder, then removed his arm from around her and stepped back, put away his wand. He waited for Bailey to say something, anything, or start out of the little alcove. She didn’t. She stepped closer to him, reached up to his face with her hands, kissed him, softly this time. Pulling back lightly, she murmured, “that was brilliant,” and brought her lips to his again.

Adrian didn’t think it was brilliant. He had let Walsh run his mouth too much, he had let him get away with it. If Lewis hadn’t been there as witness, if this hadn’t been Bailey’s fight – Adrian would have preferred a stronger approach. He eased back from the kiss, pushed gently at her waists. “I always am, Brookland,” he said. “We should get back to the Hall.” He held out her gloves.

She chuckled against his chest. “Back to Brookland, am I?” she asked. “What’s your rush, _Adrian_? It’s not curfew for us yet,” she added.

“We had a deal, _Brookland,_ that we saw through to the end. Anything else is more than taking liberties,” he said, even though his hands caressed her waist.

She pulled back and they looked at each other, though they couldn’t really see the other’s expressions in the faint light. “Don’t you want to?” she asked in a breathy tone, running her thumb back and forth over his jaw. “More, I mean.”

That close, he was still inhaling her scent with every breath. She was far too alluring. Far too close when he had the tournament to think about. But for one night? One time? He could allow himself that, couldn't he? Did she even want anything more than that? Did he?

Adrian caught her face in his free hand, leaned closer into her, traced a path along her jaw with his lips to whisper in her ear, “Don’t tempt me, Bailey.” He would have liked more, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to it. Not when they had both had a bit too much of the smuggled firewhisky, not out of spite towards Walsh, and definitely not in a Gryffindor hotspot of all places.

After fixing themselves up so they didn’t look too much like they had just snogged, they reluctantly made their way back to the Great Hall where all pretence of formality had dropped. Bailey slipped off to find Moore and her other friends in the crowd of dancers, while Adrian hung back with a drink in his hand and scanned the room for Tiberius. He caught Kenneth’s eye instead, motioned him towards a quiet corner.

“They slipped out,” Kenneth said as soon as he was within earshot. Adrian pinched the bridge of his nose, that was exactly what he didn’t want to hear. “You all right?”

Adrian emptied his glass, put it away. “I’m going to take a walk. Tell Bailey, will you?” he said.

“Mate, I don’t think-” Kenneth said, shook his head, then looked contemplatively at him for a moment. “Let the kid enjoy the night, won’t you?”

Adrian flinched minutely, then whirled on him. “He’s thirteen, Foley. What are you suggesting?” he said through a clenched jaw.

Kenneth raised an unamused eyebrow at him, crossed his arms over his chest. “That he’s thirteen and he has a date.”

Adrian glared at him, then jerked his head away, “I need some air,” he said tersely, and walked out.

He went directly to the Slytherin common room, trying not to think about Kenneth’s words. He found Terrence and Harvey snuggled together on a corner couch, and asserted that Davis had indeed returned to her dorm. The couple looked acutely at him as he breathed a sigh of relief, but he ignored their unasked questions and started back to the Hall again.

For some reason, the idea of going to the Hall overwhelmed him. The Ball had been fine. His date had been gorgeous, and they’d had a good time. His brother had not been stood up, or set up. The food and drinks had been scrumptious and the music had been impressive. He’d had a good time. But looking at the decorative lights in the empty corridor, he really wanted to run the other way.

He stopped there, a hollow feeling quickly taking over his chest.

Because he would have likely ruined Tiberius’s date if he had found them. Because Bailey did not like him, not as much as she disliked Walsh. Because he couldn’t care about the food or the drinks. And he really wasn’t the type to get sweaty on a crowded dance floor. And because going back to the den had simply reminded him of the bloody egg.

Letting out a harsh breath, he turned to walk out of the castle into the cold night. He wanted to be alone.

He walked towards the lake without much thought. The lake was a solace, he could pretend to roll his nervous thoughts into little balls and chuck them into the deep waters. Ignoring the odd couple or two he sensed behind the bushes along the way, he went to a spot by the lake sheltered from the castle’s view by a growth of trees and bushes. He moved past the barrier but it seemed the fates had decided on no peace for him that night. Well, at least the egg slipped out of his mind.

Sitting on a bench and sobbing softly, was a girl in periwinkle-blue robes he instantly recognized though she was facing the other way towards the lake. Adrian rubbed his temples, walked slowly towards her.

“Granger,” he called, and she jumped up to her feet, tried to discreetly wipe her face before she turned in his direction.

“Yes?” she said in a small voice, and started running a hand through her hair trying to smooth it down.

Adrian raised an eyebrow. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Her half-shrug in reply looked more like a quiver. She retook her seat, crossed her arms in front of her and hunched into herself. “I’m fine. Did you want something?” she asked, addressing the lake.

He bit back a frown, followed her line of sight towards the lake. He could see the Durmstrang ship in the distance. And a sudden jolt hit him. “Did Krum do something?” he demanded firmly, stepping around to block her view of the lake. If Krum had conned Adrian into thinking him a better man than a pure-blood Durmstrang dark arts wanker-

She frowned, shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“Granger, if Krum-”

“No,” she said exasperatedly. “Viktor was a perfect gentleman. My friends, on the other hand, are prats. Now do you mind? You’re in the way.”

Adrian stepped aside to let her glare at the lake, her eyes rapidly blinking to hold back her tears. Krum wasn’t guilty so Adrian couldn’t be held accountable in any way for her current state of misery. Every worst-case scenario his brain had conjured up in a matter of seconds came to a screeching halt, but the foul aftertaste remained. He was reminded of being thirteen years old, of his “girlfriend” who had recently received her N.E.W.T scores guiding his head down to where she had wanted him. When he had gotten close enough to be assaulted by her smells, he had backed out, bile rising in his throat, and had made a shoddy excuse before he had bolted. Stupid. He had been a monumentally stupid – Fuck. What the bloody hell had been in the drinks?

Adrian ruthlessly pushed the memory back into a corner, exhaled a deep breath to clear his mind. This wasn’t about him.

Granger looked older yet more vulnerable than he had ever seen her before. He shifted on his feet. He could go, he should go… he took a seat at the end of the bench, leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he watched the lake. He let the silence of the night wash over him, interrupted only by Granger’s occasional sniffling and shifting in her seat.

“Is there a reason you’re still here?” she asked morosely. 

He pressed his lips together. Slytherins never came to him crying, preferring to keep any significant outpouring of emotions private. The one or two times he had come across a Slytherin in tears, they had glared at him as if daring him to imply they were crying. Besides which, Granger was hardly going to share her troubles with him no matter what he said.

“How’s your club doing, Granger?” he asked, taking a page out of Harper’s book. She had apparently dealt with far more crying than she cared for during the time she had patrolled with Diggory, and had devised a strategy for dealing with a student in tears.

“What?” Granger asked, confused, looking at him sideways.

Adrian leaned back on his hands, inclined his head to look at her. “Your House-Elf club. Don’t tell me you’ve abandoned it already?”

She shook her head, then looked away as she tried to clear her face. Granger crossed her knees then and turned completely in his direction. “Um, S.P.E.W is still running. Not as well as I’d have liked though,” she said, frowned lightly as she looked beyond his shoulder into the distance.

Okay, so maybe that was a poor topic of choice to employ as distraction. He hummed in acknowledgement, tried to think of a way to move the conversation in a different direction as he watched her thoughts run unhindered in the expressions on her face.

“Did you want to join?” she blurted out, bit at her lower lip.

The castle seemed really far right in that moment. And Adrian could hear the seconds tick by in the sounds of the night as he took in the unmistakable hope that shone in her eyes under the moonlight. She shivered, then, before she ran her palms up and down her bare upper arms. His eyes briefly darted to her arms at the action, then he swallowed and looked away from her to the lake. He took out his wand, murmured a warming charm in a bubble around them. It was the alcohol making him maudlin, yes, that was it. And he was still keyed up from the alcove, wasn’t he?

“You’re going to charge me for entry, aren’t you?” he asked as he looked back at her, an eyebrow raised.

She smiled sheepishly. “It’s only two sickles,” she appealed.

He shook his head, a small, grudging smile forming on his face. If Pipsy ever heard he was discussing freeing House-Elves, his mother would have him scrubbing the floor. Without magic.

“I think I’ll pass, Granger,” he said, looked to the lake again as her face fell.

At least, she stopped crying. She threw several not-so-discrete glances his way as minutes of pensive silence stretched between them, in which Adrian started musing about teenagers and their dramatics. Sure, he was one himself, but becoming a prefect gave one novel perspectives on the matter. Granger then rose from her seat, shuffled on her feet.

“I’m going back inside,” she said hesitantly.

Adrian observed her face for a moment, in order to ascertain her state of mind. She coloured lightly at his appraisal and tucked away a lock of hair behind her ear as she looked down and away. He got up as well. “I’ll walk you back up to the castle.”

“Oh,” she said, her eyes widening briefly. “You don’t have to.”

He sighed. “Granger, Professor Snape is on patrol. Do you fancy spending the first week of term in detention?”

“N-no,” she stammered.

“Come on, then. Before Herr Krum sends out a search party.” Adrian started leading the way back to the castle, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he stepped outside the bubble of warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An important chapter. And we're halfway through.
> 
> \- McWriter

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Subscribe to follow along. Regular updates guaranteed.
> 
> \- McWriter


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